#unaware whumper

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

HI!! okay so with the magical euphoria thingy i screamed into my pillow like twenty million times while reading AUDHSHXH /pOS YOUR WRITING IS AUAHDHAHX!!:?:!;!;:!, ANYWAY.

whumpee uses WAY too much magic in a fight. they’re completely giddy, out of it, and have just horrifically defeated something/someone.

looks around and notices that everyone is silent and terrified of what whumpee is capable of, because holy fuck. they did not need to go that far????

meanwhile whumpee thinks they were doing the right thing and, still incredibly excited from winning, runs over to caretaker!! and doesn’t understand why caretaker flinches away from them!! ^_^

sorry for the heinous grammar its like almost midnight rn :(((

(context)

I’m glad you liked my writing! I’m grinning like a fool rn.

And yes!!! Not every battle ends with Whumpee exhausted and ready to collapse. Sometimes they’re still sparking with energy, too deep into the high to realize they’re acting oddly, but not deep enough to be entirely gone. And honestly? For the people who care about them, for the people who are afraid of them, I think that state would be far, far worse. Awake but not quite aware. Unpredictable.

So like, hear me out.

The squadron is returning back to camp after a long day of missions. Their mage is still with them, in both senses of the word. They’re not fallen into total lunacy yet, still conscious and mobile. Whumpee’s bouncing on their toes, head swiveling on their shoulders like an excited puppy. They’re chatting excitedly, near incomprehensibly, at a soldier that made the mistake of getting too close. The soldier can only nod along to the stream of consciousness leaving Whumpee’s lips.

Caretaker is keeping a hold on Whumpee’s arm, making sure they don’t run off. They know Whumpee will be fine after a night’s rest.

It’s a rare moment of calm. They’re sore and exhausted, but the warm pride of a job well done leaves them feeling satisfied. The atmosphere is light as they trudge through the forest. Peaceful, all things considered.

But then Whumpee freezes, body stiffening all at once as something catches their attention. They turn, eyes focusing on something. A flash of enemy colors flicks in their vision–

Whumpee’s moving before Caretaker can react. Light bursts from their hands, illuminating the dark forest, and the squadron freezes on instinct. Whumpee’s attention, fractured and fleeting moments ago, has sharpened into a deadly edge to focus on a single figure.

Whumpee reaches out a single glowing hand, fingers curling as if grabbing something.

Flanked by two petrified guards, hands shackled behind his back, is a single enemy soldier taken as prisoner. His eyes widen as Whumpee’s attention focuses on him, the man’s bruised and exhausted face contorted in terror. His mouth is open in silent, terrified scream.

Just as Caretaker is reaching out to stop them, Whumpee reaches out with an open hand. Their fingers curl inward as if grabbing something. With a sharp movement their hand is pulled back, fingers clenched shut. The prisoner’s body lurches forward in response.

The crackle of energy cracks through the air, and suddenly something red and dripping and squirming is hovering mere feet from the man. He’s never laid eyes on it before, but the emptiness in his chest tells him exact

The human heart, still beating, falls to the forest floor. Its owner falls a moment later.

Silence follows. Fear and shock runs through the squadron, their minds struggling to comprehend what had just unfolded. Some freeze like a deer in the headlights, terrified that moving will bring Whumpee’s wrath. Others are inching their hands towards their belts, looking for a weapon. Others still are simply trembling from shock, suddenly and violently reminded of the danger in their midsts.

The terror that grips Caretaker is different. They’re afraid for Whumpee. Training kicking into overdrive, Caretaker’s eyes dart over the scene, calculating. Assessing the panic, assessing how long they have until fear turns into action.

They know they have to take control of the situation. Caretaker’s footsteps are firm as they approach Whumpee, exuding confidence they don’t feel, and praying it's enough to keep the situation from escalating.

Caretaker places a hand on Whumpee’s shoulder. Whumpee turns to face them, expression blank

“Whumpee,” Caretaker speaks with trained calmness, voice gentle yet firm. Their smile is a weak, trembling thing, doing little to mask their anxiety. The smile Whumpee gives in return is genuine and bright, oblivious. “We need him alive. We’re taking him in for questioning, remember?”

Whumpee doesn’t respond. Their eyes are more clouded than they were a moment before, their sanity strained even further by that display of power. For a long, breathless moment Whumpee simply stares, a vacant smile plastered over their face.

Caretaker keeps their expression calm, but the tension is suffocating them. All they can hear is the gurgling of a dying man.

And then the moment breaks. Whumpee blinks, and awareness flicks back into their eyes. A tittering giggle creeks out from between their teeth.

“Oh! Right, yes. We need that one alive, don’t we?” Whumpee laughs.

The clearing is still as Whumpee all but skips over to the twitching body. They grab the heart from where it dropped.The muscle is still pulsing weakly, spilling blood over Whumpee’s arms. They don’t seem to notice.

Whumpee calls their magic again, the organ vanishing in a flash. In that same instance, the prisoner’s eyes fly open, bloodless lips widening with a desperate gasp. His next inhale comes out as a sob. He curls inward, limbs close to his chest, as if desperate to keep his heart in its place.

Whumpee doesn’t even give the man a second glance. As their would-be victim sobs, broken and terrified, on the ground, Whumpee happily returns to Caretaker’s side. They reach their hand, now coated a deep red, expectantly towards Caretaker. Caretaker holds Whumpee’s hand with a trained smile, and tries not to flinch at the warm wetness.

Caretaker starts walking, not daring to look back. They know the terrified, hateful, dangerous looks they’ll see if they did.

Whumpee doesn’t notice the way Caretaker's grip tightens, or how they’re maneuvered to walk some distance away from the other soldiers.

The rest of the trip is done in silence.

[whatiswhump]

I just love insanity whump so much because there are two EXCEPTIONAL options to start with:

There are whumpers who can take advantage of the situation, maybe even mAke someone ill or brainwashed, but there's also underlying mental illness, and its just so tragic and messed up...

And in this.. the whumpee's worst enemy can just be themselves.

[writereleaserepeat]

Love, love, love this prompt! Knew I had to write something the moment I saw it. Thanks for the inspiration <3

Frostbitten

CW: kidnapping, captivity, strong language, scar mention, malnutrition mention, hypothermia, frostbite

WC: ~4500

It had been fun, at first. 

The door to the cabin had opened to reveal dunes of fresh snow, the piles shaped by howling winds. Heavy flakes still fell in sheets of unforgiving white. Roman’s pet had curled around his feet and begged, pleaded, and cried to stay inside. It had promised Roman that it would do anything, take any other punishment, so long as it didn’t have to face winter’s bite. 

Roman had thrown it outside in the blizzard nonetheless. He had kicked its ribs as he attached the chain around its neck to a nearby fencepost. And for a while, he had watched out the window with a mug of warm tea in his hands, observing as that pathetic creature tried to keep itself warm. Its skin was exposed to the brutality of the elements, and its collar had quickly turned pale with frost. The way its limbs jerked with uncontrollable shivers sent waves of euphoria through Roman’s body. 

As his attention span dwindled, he’d moved away from the window and on to other tasks. The storm wasn’t supposed to wane any time soon. With the assurance that his plaything would suffer for hours to come, Roman had busied himself with chores around the cabin, humming along with the soft jazz record that played beside the comforting fire. 

Every once in a while, he passed by the window. He had chuckled at the sight of a half-hollowed snowbank, the pet’s fingers curled into useless claws as it tried to take shelter from the brutal gusts. It brought Roman particular joy to see it lap fresh snow up with its tongue, turning the powdery flakes into water against the roof of its mouth, while both knew it was paying for each small drink with more of its precious body heat. 

Eventually, Roman walked by the window and noticed that all motion had ceased. The floodlight revealed a divot in the snow where a body laid still. It was curled in a fetal position, limbs tucked up against its core, and its chin rested against its chest. Roman had smiled, his heart had fluttered against his ribcage, and he was delighted to see the defeat. A little while longer, he promised himself, and he would go retrieve his toy from winter’s clutches. 

Now, Roman knew he had fucked up. He knew he’d been too careless. His toy’s lifeless form didn’t stir after he shook it, or even after he had dragged it back into the cabin and wrapped it in blankets. It hadn’t moved when he’d placed it in front of the fireplace and rubbed his knuckles against its sternum.

“Shit,” Roman muttered to himself. He hated how his eyes burned with the nascent threat of tears. After taking a deep breath to collect his nerves, he placed two digits against its neck. He hunted, pressed deep into the ice-cold flesh, but couldn’t feel even the weakest pulse pressing back. Even now, after thirty minutes in the warmth of the cabin, its limbs were still a ghastly blue, and its head lolled limp whenever Roman moved it. 

As soon as he realized that there were truly no signs of life, Roman felt his body switch into autopilot. He scooped the bundle of blankets into his arms and rushed out to the covered garage. The keys to the truck were already in the ignition, so he forced the vehicle to roar to life before turning the cab’s heat on full blast. As for his toy, he dumped it unceremoniously into the back seat. 

“C’mon, c’mon,” he muttered to the truck as its engine warmed up. There was only one place he could go now. It was fifteen miles away, and it was fifteen miles through unplowed country roads, but it was Roman’s only hope now. No - it was the only hope for his little plaything’s survival.

Assuming it wasn’t dead already. 

And when he finally pushed out into the snow, tires crunching as they fought to find purchase amidst the ice, Roman realized he was crying. 

---------------------

Sylvester was in his bed, a tattered book in hand, when he heard his doorbell ring. It was his doorbell that sounded first, and then his phone followed seconds later. 

“Hey, is that you out there?” He asked as he set the book down and picked up the phone. He’d already tossed his blankets to the side and had his feet in his slippers by the time he answered the familiar name on the screen. 

“Yeah, man, it’s me,” Roman’s voice came through the phone with a slight waver. “I’m outside, and just, fuck. You gotta let me in.” 

“Is everything alright?” Sylvester was put on high alert as soon as he heard the first sound of concern from Roman’s lips, and in response, he bolted towards the cabin door. Roman was the most unflappable man he knew. They’d been on backcountry ski patrol together for the better part of a decade, and nothing from compound fractures to broken necks put even the slightest tremor in Roman’s hands. In fact, there was nothing Sylvester could even imagine that would make his friend as shaken as he sounded over the phone. 

He was at the door of his cabin before Roman had the chance to respond, and he threw it open without the slightest guess at the horrors that awaited him. 

Sylvester felt his eyes widen as he drank in the scene on his cabin’s doorstep. Roman stared at him with tears in his eyes, a bundle of blankets in his arms. It took just another moment before Sylvester saw a human arm dangling limp from beneath the exterior quilt. 

“I- I - I didn't - not like this - I didn't mean to!” Roman’s voice cracked. “Please, just please, you have to help me- help them. You have to help them.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Sylvester muttered beneath his breath before grabbing Roman by his shoulders and yanking him inside. “What the hell is this?” 

“He won’t wake up,” Roman said as he ran pushed past Sylvester and towards the glowing embers of the cabin’s fireplace. “I can’t find his pulse. I thought- I thought he would be fine. He wasn’t outside that long.” 

“What do you mean, he ‘wasn’t outside that long?’” 

“I’m not- I’m not sure how much time. Maybe two hours.” Roman dropped the blankets to the floor and began to pull them back. And when Sylvester was able to fully comprehend the sight before him, it took all his strength not to dry heave. 

In the middle of the blankets and quilts lay a motionless man, so emaciated that Sylvester could have counted every one of his ribs. His ice-white skin was marked by a litany of scars and wounds, some raised in angry red ridges, and others tinged in purple. Perhaps most shocking of all was the thick leather collar padlocked around his bruised neck. 

“What the-” Sylvester couldn’t finish his thought before Roman cut him off, words pouring out of the man’s mouth uncontrollably. 

“I brought him inside an- an hour ago? I think? I tried everything we do on patrol, you know? Blankets, lots of blankets, to bring his core temperature up. Put him in front of my fire. But his lips are still blue, I can’t tell if he has a pulse, and it doesn’t seem like he’s been breathing. Oh god, he can’t be dead, he just- he can’t.” 

Questions later, Sylvester told himself as he knelt beside the pile of blankets. It was the mantra that got him through his first few years of ski patrol. Help now, questions later. Help now, questions later. 

“How’d you get here?” He asked as he rubbed his hands together and placed them on the motionless body. At first glance, he would have assumed the man was dead. Sylvester desperately hoped a sign of life would prove him wrong. 

“Took the truck,” Roman said. “It was- the roads were bad. Real bad. I’d have kept trying at my place but I panicked. I know you have more med supplies than me, and more experience, and I just- he can’t die. He can’t.” 

“Get some of the firewood,” Sylvester instructed as he pushed two fingers into the body’s neck, just above the collar. “Toss it on and get the fire going again.”

A few agonizing moments passed, but then Sylvester felt it: a slight throb against his fingertips. He couldn’t help but breathe a brief sigh of relief. 

It was uncomfortable to deal with a limp body, especially a limp head, when he didn’t have any history of the trauma the individual had suffered. For all he knew, he was aggravating a pre-existing neck or spinal trauma. But as he knew, making sure that the man was breathing and his heart was beating were of the utmost priority. Sylvester used gentle hands to pull open the man’s mouth and check his throat for obstructions. There were none, and as he probed further, he felt the slightest rush of warmth against his palm. 

“He’s not dead,” Sylvester said. When he glanced up, he saw that the fire was roaring back to life beneath a few dry logs and Roman’s prodding. The news caused audible relief to cross over the man’s face. 

“Thank God,” Roman said as his posture relaxed, but Sylvester could see that his hands were still trembling. 

“Go get my kit,” Sylvester instructed next, carefully rolling the limp body over from its back onto its stomach. He continued his visual inspection, noting the garish scars that criss-crossed the man’s entire back, and grit his teeth when he observed the blackened flesh of dead tissue along numerous fingers and toes. 

When Roman returned with the bright red medical bag, Sylvester wasted no time in grabbing a rectal thermometer and directing it into the naked man’s body. A few agonizing minutes passed before the final readout of core body temperature. 

86° Fahrenheit. 

“Alive, but seriously hypothermic.” The diagnosis was obvious with even a glance, even more so for the snow-seasoned medic, but this was enough confirmation that the victim could pull through. If it had truly been more than an hour since Roman had started warming efforts, there was little question that the man had been hypothermic near-death. 

Sylvester grabbed the edges of the blankets that had wrapped the body and began to pull them tight again. It was almost like swaddling a baby, particularly so given how small the frostbitten body was, but it was the best chance they had at bringing his body temperature back up. The blankets Roman had chosen were warm, at least, from survivalist staples to thick downy quilts. But Sylvester doubted that even the blankets and the fire would be enough to save this man before he succumbed to the results of his condition. 

“Go get the blankets from my room,” was his next command to Roman. His friend obeyed wordlessly. 

“Who are you?” Sylvester murmured to the unconscious man, whose blue lips hung open slightly in the expression of a person between death and sleep. A quick glance under the closed eyelids revealed unresponsive pupils ringed in warm brown irises. 

It wasn’t conscious thought that brought his fingers wandering down to the collar. The thick strap of leather was barely visible above the layers of blankets, which were bundled up to the man’s neck. The stitching on the leather was frayed in spots, other areas scored with what looked like claw marks, and a heavy rusted padlock secured it at the base of the man’s skull. Sylvester wasn’t sure he even had bolt cutters thick enough to get through it. 

Roman returned with an armful of blankets, which the two worked silently to drape over the still-unconscious form. By now the fire was roaring in earnest, crackling as the cores of the dry logs ignited, and it was warm enough that Sylvester could feel it pulse from ten feet away. For now, it would have to be enough.

“We need to call the park rangers out here as soon as possible,” Sylvester said as he settled down beside the body. “There’s no way in hell EMS can get a chopper up in this blizzard, and I don’t have the sled on my snowmobile. We’d need the rangers’ gear if we have any hope of getting this guy through the snow and to a proper hospital. 

“You can’t call anyone!” Roman exclaimed as urgency rose anew in his tone. “You can’t. This has to stay between us.” 

“The hell it does,” Sylvester growled. His nerves brought a rare edge to his voice, his stifled shock and anger bleeding through. “You bring me a half-dead man, ask me to bring him back to life, and have the audacity to tell me not to ask any questions? Have you looked at him? There’s a collar around his neck, for fuck’s sake. If the cold didn’t kill him, starvation or infection would have.They still might, if we don’t get him help fast.” 

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Roman said as he sank down to his knees. There was sadness sparkling in his eyes as he laid a hand on the bundle of blankets. “He was supposed to wake up when I brought him inside. He always wakes up. No matter how hungry, no matter how cold, no matter how much he bleeds, he gets up again. He’s so resilient, and I love that about him. I’ve always loved him. He gets so close to the brink, but then I pull him back, and I let him live. It’s beautiful. It’s a beautiful thing, but this isn’t beautiful, because I can’t lose him. He’s mine.” 

“The fuck are you going on about?” The hair on Sylvester’s neck prickled. He’d spent countless twelve-hour days out in the backcountry with Roman over the last ten years, but the blubbering man in front of him now might as well have been a stranger. There was none of Roman’s cheerful laughter, or those bright-red cheeks that flushed with even the lightest embarrassment. There was none of that usually experienced caution or laser-focus when they answered the call of a skier in trouble. This person in Sylvester’s cabin bore no resemblance to Sylvester’s long-time patrol partner. 

Roman bit down on his lower lip and refused to meet Sylvester’s eyes as he answered. 

“I was out in the backcountry, you know? Just another weekend on the mountain, and I got word there was some good powder out east. Found this guy in some real trouble, caught up in the tail-end of an avalanche. We weren’t too far from my place, so I took him back, got him fixed up. Had some coffee, got him some dry clothes, you know the drill. But he was just… too perfect. The way he was crying when I found him, the way he begged me to be gentle before I set his broken arm, the way he screamed when I finally did…” Wistfulness glittered in Roman’s tears. 

“And then what happened?” Sylvester felt his heart growing cold. He was slipping into the dissociation of a paramedic experiencing horrors that had to be compartmentalized, shoved into the back of the mind, in order to focus on the task at hand.  

“I knew I had to keep him,” Roman said with a shadow of a smile on his lips. “He wasn’t well enough to leave on his own, and his gear was busted after his accident. I told him I’d take him to the hospital soon, but I never did. He’s been mine ever since.”

Sylvester swallowed, the next question lodged in his throat. 

“Are you- are you the one that did this to him?” 

“Oh, he did it to himself,” Roman said. His voice was growing soft with dreaminess. “It’s all his own fault. Either he misbehaved, or he asked for it, or he was just too fucking pretty when he cried. You understand, don’t you, Sylve?”

No, Sylvester wanted to scream. No, I don’t understand, you fucking lunatic. 

But he didn’t say that. He smiled, a fake-as-hell plastic smile, and nodded. If he was going to be stuck in a twenty-square-meter cabin with a batshit cartoon villain, thirty miles away from cell service in the middle of a snow squall, he wasn’t going to provoke the man. A man he thought he knew. A man who was, apparently, capable of unspeakable horrors. 

“Yeah, I understand.” Sylvester pulled up his lips with a bit more effort. “I get it, man, I really do. I just haven’t had the balls to do something like this.” His laugh was wry, painfully fake, but it seemed to put Roman at ease. After a moment, Roman laughed too. 

“Shit, you’d be down? And here I’ve been hiding it from you this whole time. I’d have let you come over and had a shot at him, you know? We could work together. It’s fun, it’s so goddamn fun. Just can’t have him die, not today, not like this. I’m attached to this one. I told myself I wouldn’t get attached, but I’m just not ready to let him go.” 

“What’s his name?” 

“Ah, well, I don’t really call him by his name. Not anymore. But when I first rescued him, he told me his name was Rudolph. Goes by Rudy, though.” 

Rudy, Sylvester thought as he squeezed the top blanket. I’m going to get you out of here, Rudy. I’m going to get us both out of here. I’ll make this right. 

“You want coffee?” Sylvester asked, giving the blanket a final squeeze as he rocked back from the body. “I bet it’s been a helluva night for you.” 

“I’d love some coffee.” Roman settled back with a sigh, some of his nervous energy seemingly evaporated with Sylvester’s agreement. “Dark roast if you have any.” 

“I know your coffee order, you dolt,” Sylvester teased. It was true: he knew Roman’s coffee order from top-to-bottom, and that the coffee snob always wanted his dark roast, even on a five-night province-wide trek. And as Sylvester got up he nodded towards the cabin door. 

“Last of the dark roast I’ve got is out in cold storage. You get the kettle going on the fire, I’ll grab the grinder and beans, alright?” 

“Yeah. Kettle where you always keep it?” 

“You know it.” 

Without another word, Sylvester went over to his door and pulled on his snow boots, and then the heavy jacket on the coat hanger. The cold storage and shed were just around the back of the cabin. 

But Sylvester wasn’t going out to get coffee. It was true that the last of his dark roast was out in cold storage, as was his bean grinder. The only thing on his mind, however, was finding a way to subdue Roman long enough to get himself and Rudy to safety. 

Roman was larger than Sylvester by at least a full order of magnitude. The man was six-foot two, and at least two hundred and fifty pounds. Sylvester, on the other hand, was barely brushing five-eleven and a buck-eighty. If it was nothing but man-to-man, hand-to-hand, Roman would come out on top every time. 

In his shed, Sylvester had any number of tools to bring down anything from tree branches to big game. And even if Roman had shown his true nature, and was undoubtedly a threat to both Sylvester and Rudy, Sylvester wasn’t quite ready to kill someone he had once considered his best friend. So as he closed the door to the ancient shed behind him and turned on the gas lamp, he began hunting for anything that could be considered less-than-lethal. 

He knew he couldn’t take too long. Roman would expect him back in a matter of minutes, if not less. There was no time to dawdle and ponder over ethics. A man’s life was at stake as it was, and Sylvester’s own could be if he wasn’t careful. 

After a few moments of digging through the piles of tools and shadows, Sylvester made his choice. A can of bear spray, a pocket full of zip ties, and a short garden spade. All of the items tucked away into his parka, unnoticeable beneath its already substantial bulk. Finally, he grabbed the bag of dark roast off the upper shelf of the cold storage corner, and extinguished the gas lamp. 

“Got the beans,” Sylvester said, putting on his best effort at a lopsided grin as he threw open the cabin door. He held the bag up for Roman to see. The larger man turned around from his spot at the fireside and beamed. 

“You still have that good stuff? I thought we went through it all before the end of last season.” 

“Nah, I never know when you’re going to pop over and demand something that’s ‘real coffee.’ Been keeping this one just for you.” 

“Much appreciated,” Roman said as he adjusted the kettle above the flames. If he was suspicious of Sylvester, nothing on his face showed as much. A sick feeling settled in Sylvester’s stomach as he realized they were talking as though Rudy weren’t still unconscious on the floor. 

“I’m going to get the drip setup put together, it's been a minute since I’ve used it.” Sylvester spoke as he walked across the room towards the kitchen. There was no real privacy or place to hide in the cabin, so Sylvester knew he had to be careful. The blunt edge of the spade rubbed against his back with every step. 

“I’ll keep an eye on this, wait for it to get just below boiling. Don’t want to burn something that nice with boiling water.” 

Sylvester hummed in agreement as he set the bag of coffee down on the crowded countertop. He opened a cabinet with his left hand and rummaged around through the pots, but his right hand slipped back into his coat pocket. His pointer finger edged under the safety cap and found the trigger, and the rest of his hand curled tight around the can. He did his best to ignore the sweat coating his palms. 

Once he pulled the coffee supplies out from behind the cast-iron pans, Sylvester got back to his feet. It was just a few strides over to where Roman sat. The man was sitting cross-legged beside the fire, a long poker at his side, attention torn between Rudy’s motionless body and the steam rising from the kettle. He knew how far the bear spray could reach, but he didn’t want to take any chances. This was his only shot to save himself and Rudy from certain peril. 

“Hey, Roman, I was wondering-” Sylvester started as he took one step, two steps, three steps towards the other conscious man. This was enough to make Roman perk up, eyes wide as they peered up at Sylvester. 

Now or never. 

Sylvester pulled the can out of his pocket and depressed the trigger. The response was instantaneous as high-pressure aerosol spit from the tip, crossing the five meters in a heartbeat, the air filled with unspeakable heat. It was only another moment before Roman started howling in agony and clawing at his eyes. 

“You motherfucker- I can’t see- fuck-” Roman shouted and sputtered as he tried to stagger to his feet. But Sylvester was faster, and Roman was blinded. The spade came out effortlessly from beneath the jacket, and Sylvester paused for only a moment as he raised the blunt side above his head. A glance at Rudy’s unconscious body was the only motivation he needed to bring it down. 

It took six more blows before Roman was unconscious on the floor. Maybe it was because Sylvester had been holding back without knowing it, or maybe it was because Roman was truly just that strong of a man. But there was no telling how long the artificial sleep would last. 

The zip ties were strong enough to hold pieces of his ATV together, so Sylvester could only pray they were enough to hold Roman in place long enough to get help. A few loops around his ankles, a few loops around his hands, and each of those secured to the exposed timber holding the cabin up. That would have to do. 

His heart was thundering in his chest, and his blood pulsed with a fire he had never experienced before. It was a coalescence of adrenaline and terror that was utterly surreal. In those moments, Sylvester felt strong enough to move mountains. 

But he didn’t need to move mountains. He just needed to get Rudy to safety, and get away from Roman’s reach. The bundle of blankets in front of the scorching fire was still entirely motionless. 

Roman’s truck was still pulled up close to the cabin’s doorstep. And if Roman had abided by his usual habits, the keys would be on the front seat, all the doors unlocked. It was still dumping snow, and the radio forecast had mentioned no signs of it slowing any time soon, but Sylvester had seen worse. He didn’t need to see the roads. All he needed was his compass and a flashlight to show him where the edges of the trees started and ended. That would get him close enough to a road, give him a path to the nearest ranger station. From there, he could call for help, get himself and Rudy to a hospital. 

As for what would come of Roman, well, Sylvester didn’t dwell on it. There were more pressing needs at hand. 

A last trip out to the shed was all he needed before they left. Sylvester hastily piled all he could think of into the covered truck bed. A few five-gallon tubs of potable water - currently ice that would need to be melted - and a basket of nutrient-rich rations. A few cans of gasoline. Additional blankets. The medical kit. A sled and some ropes if, god forbid, the truck broke down in the middle of the snow. 

After a moment of thought, Sylvester also gathered all of his firearms and placed them in the truck as well. 

“Time to get the hell out of here,” Sylvester muttered as he pulled Rudy and the blankets into his arms. “We’re going to get help, alright? You’ll be better in no time.” He wasn’t sure if Rudy could hear him at all, much less feel sensation across his frostbitten body, but Sylvester still winced as he shouldered the man’s lifeless form into the back of the cab. He hoped that they’d both live long enough for Sylvester’s promise to come true.

As the truck began to pull away from the cabin, nothing but snow and darkness ahead, Sylvester swore he heard a soft groan from the back seat. 

Whumpee is injured. Gravely injured. They're clinging to life by a thread. Whumper went too far - they messed up - they know -

Whumper drops everything. Whumper rushes, carrying Whumpee's limp and lifeless body in their arms, to the only place and the only person they can go to for help.

"I - I didn't - not like this - I didn't mean to! I-I'm sorry, please help me - no...help them-"

Caretaker only stares at them, bewildered and mortified.

[paingoes]

fantasy whump ideas ive been bouncing around in my head

+ whumpee who is being sold out as a mercenary for someone more powerful. compelled to go on dangerous missions on behalf of someone else, then pay the majority or ALL of their reward to their handler. does their adventuring party know they don’t want to be there?

+ royal whumpee being sent with an knight to guard them, unaware that their real knight was stopped on the way to meet them and an imposter has taken their place

+ hostage whumpee being carried away on horseback, forced to sit bound on whumper’s lap while they ride

+ dungeon with open roof. whumpee can see outside and is exposed to all the elements, but can’t leave

+ nature spirit being held hostage by an adventuring party, forced to guide them and manipulate the terrain as they wish. the other spirits see them as a traitor for guiding the party into forbidden territory

+ chaotic fairy whumpers. they’re not trying to hurt you, they’re just messing around. they think you’re cute with antlers growing out of you :)

+ starving whumpee being offered fairy food

+ classic: tied up and left as a sacrifice to a god or monster

[warmfungi]

What fucks with me is an evil, despicable character, lost and alone while violently ill – abandoned without anyone to care for them... And then someone Finds them.

Someone who has no connection to them or isn't even remotely aware of their actions. To them, it's just a stranger that looks to be on the brink of death. As the villain, who's got more blood on their hands than they can brag about spilling, collapses onto the ground, this person rushes to them, completely unaware they're about to save the life of someone who's not worth their time.

However, I'm tired of this trope ending up with the villain back to their old ways in an instant. If that's your thing, sure – but I always find it annoying. Sometimes, I think, it takes a monster facing its own death to realize they should treat people better – were it not for mere coincidence, death would have swallowed them whole.

Instead, it only got to graze them – because someone cared. For once, someone cared, and the villain didn't plan to use it against them.

Villain isn't a whumper. I don't like that dynamic.

[reds-whump-prompts]

Underrated Hostage Tropes

1) The “You’ll do” hostage Whumper has come to target one of Caretaker’s loved ones, but finds Whumpee instead. “Not who I was looking for, but you’ll do.”

2) The ‘grabbed in the heat of battle’ hostage When Whumper grabs Whumpee and holds them at weapon-point, a furious battle slams to a halt.

3) The unaware hostage Whumpee trying desperately to act normal and not give the game away, knowing that Whumper can hurt an unsuspecting Caretaker any time they choose.

4) The ‘maybe I don’t hate you’ hostage Whumpee and Caretaker have been at each other’s throats from the second they met, only for Caretaker to be unexpectedly panicked when Whumpee is threatened.

5) The self-sacrificial hostage Whumpee holds themself hostage, knowing they have information that Whumper can’t afford to lose. 

[whumpshaped]

this is a disgustingly fluffy prompt so beware slfkdh

caretaker always calls whumpee a word in their (caretaker‘s) native language, which whumpee doesn’t understand. but since they are very self loathing they just assume it’s something negative, since caretaker has to spend so much time and energy caring for and „tolerating“ whumpee. one day whumpee gets too curious though and decides to look up the word, only to find out it’s a pet name and caretaker has been calling them something lovingly the entire time

(bonus points if you do it in your native language i love learning new cute pet names!!)

sorry to all hungarians i know seeing this will cause some whiplash

tw pet whump, past trauma, caretaker new master

‘Easy, szívem.’

‘Szívem, could you bring me some water?’

‘You don’t have to push yourself, szívem.’

Whumpee accepted the nickname as their own easily. Whumper had given them plenty, although never ones they couldn’t even understand; useless, stupid, mutt… who knew which one Caretaker was using on them?

They avoided asking about it for the longest time. They told themself they were prepared for the meaning, that they could handle whatever degrading thing their new master ‘friend’ threw at them, but in reality… They weren’t prepared at all. They didn’t want to know. They wanted to pretend it was something nice, a term of genuine endearment, dear, darling, honey… Something people said to each other with kindness.

But eventually, curiosity won out. Whumpee sneaked into the study one day, picking out one of the dictionaries from the shelf. They thought about using the computer, but they chickened out. It would’ve been a much more egregious crime than opening a book.

The issue was, they had no idea how to spell the word. They started at ‘S’, flipping through pages upon pages and finding nothing. See-vem. See-vem. None of the words looked right. They eventually crossed over into the next letter, ‘Sz’, unsure what sound that would even make. It was all so confusing… How did Caretaker even speak this?

“Can I help you?”

Whumpee flinched at the voice, slamming the dictionary shut immediately. “C-Caretaker– I– I wasn’t– I wasn’t doing anything! I was cleaning, and the book fell down, I was just trying to check whether it was intact–”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” they said with a smile. “I’m not mad, szívem. But if you were looking for something specific in there, maybe I could help.”

“N-no, no, it’s… it’s nothing… I…” They took a deep breath, trying to ground themself. It was now or never, really. They wouldn’t get a better chance to ask. “Well… I, I was wondering about, um… The nickname, I guess. What you always call me.”

“Ah, of course. I’m sorry, I’ve never really explained it, have I? It’s just a term of endearment.” They pulled out their phone and typed something. “I’m pretty sure the dictionary only has the root word. Here.”

Whumpee took the phone gingerly, looking at the translation program. Original word, in Hungarian: szívem. Yeah, they would’ve never gotten that right. Translation, in English…

Their eyes widened in disbelief. Next to them, Caretaker chuckled. “What did you think it meant?” they asked cheerily, seemingly unaware of all the horrible options that had been swirling around in Whumpee’s head before.

“I… I don’t even know,” they breathed.

They definitely didn’t think it meant something as innocent as ‘my heart’.

[watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees]

Whump when it's subtle and all about the small things

Whumpee has been with Whumper for so long, keeping them company it's almost become casual. They sit and watch TV together, talk about their day. But the dynamic is not lost, maybe to an unaware onlooker it is, but the small things are there. Whumpee sitting on the floor instead of the couch. Moving in sync with Whumper, anticipating their needs, they don't even have to command Whumpee to do things for them. Subtle reinforcements worked into casual conversation, Whumper saying no to Whumpee, and they accept it without a question. Whumpee wearing a necklace with a small locket in it, it's almost fashionable. Whumpee making dinner for one with a horribly grumbling stomach. Whumper nonchalantly giving Whumpee permission to do something essential for their wellbeing.

[holidayinhell]

Fucking with Whumpee’s food.

Making everything inedibly salty or spicy.

Feeding him the same food over and over, knowing he can barely stomach it.

The puzzled glance he gives when Whumper feeds him way too much, unaware of the weeks of starvation that will follow.

Denying him the comfort of warm food, everything he eats is from a package or a tin can.

Eating in front of Whumpee. Allowing him to only consume the leftovers off of the floor.

Watching the desperation flood his eyes when Whumpee finally gets served a decent meal, just for Whumper to pour cold water over it.

((more prompts))

[fansplaining]

Calling all fandom journalists—both current and aspiring! As promised, we've put together a doc for pitching Fansplaining (which will temporarily become a written-only publication after Flourish's last episode next month). If you've got an idea that fits in with our general tone and approach, please send int our way!

We highlight these pieces in the doc, but in case folks are unaware that we're *currently* a written publication as well as a podcast, here's a sample of some of the stuff we've published over the years!

Kayti Burt on the specific challenges of being a “fan-journalist”

@earlgreytea68 on how U.S. copyright law doesn’t understand—or account for—fan creativity

Maria Temming on whump, featuring extensive interviews with whumpers

@areyougonnabe on the ever-mutating life of Tumblr and its communities

Keidra Chaney on stan culture’s intersections with corporate interests

@elizabethminkel on the uneasy relationship between fans and Hollywood at SDCC

Caroline Crampton on WIPs, from modern fics-in-progress to Victorian serializations

@elizabethminkel on the past, present, and future of the “Mary Sue”

@flourish on the deeply annoying reason mainstream publications spell it “fan fiction”

Also please note: we're v transparent about money here. We *deeply* appreciate our Patreon support, but we can't afford to pay a ton or publish super frequently with the current amount we take in. So if any generous folks are interested in sponsoring smart, substantive writing on fandom in the future, please get in touch. fansplaining at gmail dot com. :-))

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

Dude I see so much of average drugged whumpee just being spacey and out of it, but I raise you, a drugged whumpee that’s happy. A whumpee dosed with a euphoria drug that has them wonderfully higher than a kite, laughing, looking at streaming shimmering hallucinations around them, blissfully relaxed and unaware that whumper is behind it

bonus points if whumper flees from wherever they’ve been hiding, leaving a happily drugged whumpee behind as a “present” for caretaker

(content warning: nudity, the vague references to non-con touching)

YES. YES. YES.

I ADORE happy little drugged out whumpees! And Caretaker finding them like that? Especially when it’s such a far cry from whumpee’s typical personality? I could explode.

It’s all about the dichotomy between their behavior and their situation. Anything would be more fitting. Helpless terror as they shiver in the corner, hiding from horrors only they can see. Numb listlessness because their body is overburdened by exhaustion. Those all make sense, they fit.

But joy? Near manic euphoria, a smile stretching across their pale and dirty face? They’re not screaming or crying, but laughing, a drunken giggle that bounces against cold walls.

I think there’s an extra layer of helplessness there that is absolutely amazing. They’ve been stripped of their freedom, their dignity, and even their ability to properly respond to their situation. They’re not even given the right to anger or sadness. They’re trapped in an unthinking joy, and they can’t even begin to understand why it’s a bad thing.

And left as a prize? Absolutely. I love the idea of Caretaker finding them like that, at their most vulnerable. Presented like a trophy. Wrapped in thin silk and rope too weak to bind them under normal conditions, bruises peppering otherwise bare skin.

It’s humiliating, it’s painful, but Whumpee has no awareness of that. They simply feel good, relaxed and peaceful in a way they haven’t been for months. They’re barely aware of the exposed state they’re in, too out of it to even feel shame. They can’t remember the mocking words Whumper spoke as they pushed the needle into Whumpee’s skin, can’t remember the sicking mix of fury and terror they felt in those first few minutes, laying there with nothing to do but wait for the drug to kick in. All that’s left in their head is pink, sparkling joy.

Finally, Caretaker arrives. Whumpee doesn’t register the look of horror on Caretaker’s face. They barely respond as they’re searched for injuries, barely respond to Caretaker’s presence at all. When they do respond, it’s with slow, slurred speech, the words incoherent and muddled with uncontrollable laughter.

It sends a chill up Caretaker’s spine. It’s a state they’d neve expect to find Whumpee in, a state Whumpee would never allow themselves to be found in. It's frightening, seeing Whumpee act so unlike themselves.

Knowing that Whumper was around them in this state makes Caretaker sick. Knowing that Whumper had them at their most vulnerable, was free to mock them, touch them, do anything, and Caretaker wasn’t there to stop it, makes them feel sick.

It makes them sick to think this is all part of some game to Whumper. It makes them sick to think that they’re playing along, that saving Whumpee is somehow part of Whumper’s plan. But there’s nothing else Caretaker can do.

Caretaker removes their coat and drapes it over Whumpee’s body. Carefully, they pick Whumpee up, not trusting them to walk in their state. Whumpee’s body is warm despite being left on the cold floor, skin flush as the drug works through their system. Whumpee’s shivering, though they don’t seem to notice that either.

Whumpee presses themselves into Caretaker’s chest, humming contently. Caretaker holds them close with trembling fingers, and swears to never let them go again.

[loonybun]

Surgical whump prompts!

(req by @i-eat-worlds)

warning some of these will not be medically accurate or possible without an immortal whumpee so ignore that 💖 also sort of more intense gore stuff/me going on several tangents about my favorite pieces of unethical medical history. specific warnings for lobotomies, manipulation, infection, and dismemberment.

- i’ve kind of loved the idea of implanting something silver underneath the skin of a creature that’s weak to it. Every movement causes it to shift and itch and burn even after the skin has healed over

- amputation :) one too many escape attempts? why not make that a little harder? nab a limb every time they try running off. Maybe just start with the fingers or toes and work your way up from there.

- you know what i see a surprising lack of in whump? lobotomies. seriously where are the lobotomies. the lobotomies with long term effects. the lobotomies which a magical regenerative or immortal whumpee could recover from but leaves them scarred for life. In case you’re unaware of what lobotomies actually do to the brain, they essentially shut off your ability to think for yourself. You may still be responsive and you can still follow instructions, but they have to be very specific and step-by-step. (specifically referencing transorbital. there are different kinds with different ranges of damage potential but the transorbital is the most well known. fun fact the guy who invented the transorbital lobotomy rode around in a car he called the lobotomobile. you can’t make this shit up.)

- my love for victorian medical practices is seeping in here but perform a surgery with dull and dirty tools! The crusted blood on the scalpel adds to the effect. Bonus points if it causes a nasty infection

- Circling back to lobotomy-adjacent stuff, have your whumper fuck around with removing non-essential parts of the brain. Get an H.M. situation where you remove their ability to move short-term memories to their long-term bank. Maybe remove the amygdala, too. Or parts of the cerebellum so that they’re all uncoordinated. Not sure just how effective that would be though since I’m pretty sure the cerebellum controls other stuff too.

- leather straps securing them to the table. must i say more.

- also seriously implant devices into them. explosives, a little thing that releases drugs, something that taps into their nerves, etc…

- organ harvesting. classic but hey. i’m a simple man.

- maybe the whumper is a respected surgeon. whumpee goes to whumper for help with a rare medical condition that could maybe be solved through surgery, and instead of immediately helping them whumper keeps them to document their condition, subjecting them to various treatments and vivisections in order to find some way to “help” them. whumpee case studies, folks!

- sorry this is absolutely me sneaking my personal favorite tropes into this post but please dismember your whumpees n put them back together ball jointed doll style. surprise you can’t move on your own anymore but you can still hold a pose! loser.

[whumperofworlds]

What about accidental kidnappings?

Whumper doing a crime, like stealing a car or something, and they're unaware that Whumpee was there. All they were doing was doing a crime, but oops, there's a person there they didn't see, and Whumper ended up kidnapping them by accident!

What would Whumper do now that they got Whumpee? Do they roll with it and keep Whumpee? Do they realize their mistake and become a whumper turned caretaker?

But yes! Accidental kidnappings!

[mj-iza-writer]

Hi, so, can you do a piece where Whumpee and Caretaker hang out, and Whumpee gets wasted and finally tells Caretaker everything that Whumpee has done to them, only for Whumper to show up, take Whumpee back, and implement ‘damage control’ (however that is interpreted)?

No pressure if not, but I’ve noticed you are fantastic with oddly specific prompts and so I am excited to see what you cook up with this

Have a nice day/night/time!

@3-2-whump

I can absolutely write that. I do hope you forgive me, though. I've never drank, so I could only write what I think being wasted would be like.

Subject warning: Tongue Removal. Drunk character. Throwing up.

I hope you enjoy the story.

Whumper had noticed Whumpee walking with what seemed to be a new friend.

"OH, their you are", Whumper frowned, "I haven't seen you for a check in lately."

Whumpee walked by. Both they and the friend carried cases of alcohol.

"You know you shouldn't be drinking" Whumper whispered.

Whumper hurried to follow them.

They ended up at a campground.

Caretaker handed another beer to Whumpee. They needed Whumpee to tell them more about their past so they could help. Caretaker knew there were some parts Whumpee wasn't talking about and acted very strange when asked.

Caretaker figured getting them drunk may help them loosen them up enough to talk.

Whumpee happily drank from the third bottle. They bobbed their head to the music and smiled at Caretaker.

"This is so nice", Whumpee giggled, "so much better then... uhm."

Caretaker leaned up, "yes Whumpee.. go ahead."

"Whumper always told me not to drink. They said I'd risk telling people about our deep secrets if I was drunk", Whumpee frowned and looked at the bottle, "this.. this is nice though."

"What secrets, Whumpee?", Caretaker tried to urge.

No one saw a shadow hiding amongst the bushes nearby.

"Whumpee you better not", Whumper whispered a warning that no one could hear.

That night, Caretaker didn't hear a visitor come into their tent and steal Whumpee away.

Whumper carried Whumpee down the steps to the basement.

They lowered the half asleep, loopy Whumpee to the floor beside the wall.

They pulled Whumpee's arms behind their back and shackled them. Lastly, they pulled a chain down from the wall and securely locked it to the shackles.

Whumpee curled into themself and made happy drunk noises. Completely unaware of the danger that was knelt beside them.

"No point in hurting you right now. You're too drunk", Whumper stood, "I guess you get to enjoy the night."

Whumpee woke up and tried to stretch out. They slowly realized that their arms were shackled around them.

"No, no, no", Whumpee looked around the room quickly. The affects of the alcohol making them woosy.

They hunched over and threw up.

In the midst of this, they hadn't heard the door open or the heavy feet coming down the stairs.

Whumpee looked up from the pile of vomit. Their eyes trailed all of the way up until they met their captor's eyes.

"Well if it isn't my favorite toy. I've missed you. You never came back for your check-in with me. I got worried."

Whumpee gulped, "I-I tried to Master, they wouldn't let me out of their sight."

"I'm sure you tried to, and that you're not lying", Whumper knelt down, "you were pretty drunk last night. You know you're a pretty happy drunk. You seem to like spilling guts. You told your guardian. You told me everything. You even spilled your guts here on the floor. What do you think we should do about this, hmm?"

"I should clean it up for you", Whumpee frowned as they moved their arms, "may I clean it for you, please?"

"Hmm, maybe later. I was interested when you told me last night that you never planned to go back to Whumper. You said that to your guardian too. You also told them everything I've done to you. Also, about checking in with me. You know that isn't supposed to be talked about."

"I-I didn't mean to, i-it slipped out. I didn't mean the part about not checking in either. Please believe me, I tried...", Whumpee blubbered.

"Shhshsh", Whumper hushed, "you apparently held some truth if that was so close to the tip of your tongue to just slip out. You wanted to say it, and just needed a little something to help", Whumper grinned, "why are you lying to me? What are my rules for you?"

Whumpee sniffled, "Don't lie. Don't tell, and do not ever talk about what happens here. I must check in with Master once a month to continue being free."

"Oh good, so you do remember, so why haven't you checked in the last two months?", Whumper sighed, "I was nervous something bad had happened to you. Then I see you walking around with some new person", Whumper started raising their voice, "two months Whumpee. Everyone has checked in with me, but you. Damage control is necessary for you to remain free."

Whumpee cowarded away as Whumper slammed their hand on the wall above them.

"I-I'm sorry, Caretaker has kept a close eye on me. I think they knew something was up", Whumpee kept their eyes low, "I tried to... honest."

Whumper sighed, "dishonest tongues should be destroyed. I think we should take that tongue away from you. I'm also taking away your freedom."

"Please Master", Whumpee fell forward into the puke, "please."

"All of you know the repercussions of misusing my kindness. Yes I'll take your tongue and your freedom", Whumper grinned, "you won't be able to talk very well. Tasting would be hard as well. Yes that is a fitting punishment."

"M-master please, I beg of you", Whumpee pleaded, "I-I don't want.... please take something else from me... please not my tongue."

"Fine I'll go get that Caretaker person who kept you away from me", Whumper stood and started to walk, "that way I'll take away your connection to the real world."

"Mast... Master please.... my tongue.... take that. Please don't hurt them", Whumpee pleaded.

"Oh, so now I can have it?", Whumper smirked, "are you giving your Master permission."

"N-no Master, just hoping you will show me mercy", Whumpee looked at them longingly, "please."

"I'm taking your tongue after breakfast", Whumper frowned.

Whumper strapped Whumpee down to their examination table. They placed a gag in Whumpee's mouth to hold it open.

"Now, removing a tongue is not easy. You run the risk of letting the person bleed out if it's not done right or the tongue could roll back and gag yhe perosn. So I recommend holding still", Whumper sighed, "and no, you don't get any pain relief."

Whumpee made a concerned look, "wh..?"

Whumper chuckled, "exactly."

Whumper used a tool to pull out the tongue and another to clamp and hold the piece that would still be attached.

Whumpee screamed and gagged as Whumper went deep into their mouth to cut out their tongue.

Whumper held Whumpee's head still, "if you move anymore, I will screw up. Stop moving."

Whumpee glared with tears in their eyes.

Whumpee was shackled to the wall again after the removal.

"It was successful", Whumper stood, "everything was done correctly. I'm glad I learned how to do that."

Whumpee only looked up for a second before looking at the floor.

"You are really swell...", Whumper heard someone breaking into the house.

Whumpee lowered themself to the floor. The swelling was causing them not to hear anything at the moment. They were too tired to care.

Whumper ran up the stairs and was instantly taken by police.

Caretaker ran past as they were being arrested. Several officers followed them down the steps.

"Whumpee", Caretaker ran to the body. They hoped it wasn't too late.

They turned Whumpee over and saw the swelling and bruising around their face.

"Whumpee", Caretaker gently shook them.

Medics came down and started to work.

"They look like they're in shock, any signs of blood loss", one of the medics looked into Whumpee's eyes.

An officer came running in, "there is a tongue in here. Is it there's?"

The medic opened Whumpee's mouth and gasped.

"It's been removed", the medic tried to hide a gag.

Whumpee winced and looked longingly at Caretaker.

"We need to get them to the hospital", the medics started to get them onto a gurney and strapped in.

Caretaker lovingly squeezed Whumpee's hand, "I'm sorry I couldn't get you to safety quicker. I will be up to the hospital soon to see you. I need to help here first. They will get you help."

Whumpee weakly nodded and saw the tears in Caretaker's eyes.

Caretaker watched as Whumpee was removed. Another carried out the removed tongue in a cooler.

With Whumpee and Whumper removed the police and Caretaker went through the house. They took records on Whumpee and others that seemed to be allowed to come and go as long as they checked in periodically.

"We need to station someone here to ketch these that come here and get them to safety", Caretaker looked over the names, "these poor people."

Caretaker had received Whumpee's location and made their way through the hospital.

The doctor caught them before they went into the room.

"I wanted to let you know a few things before you went in", the doctor led them to a nurses station. Their tongue is gone. It looks like it was removed accurately, so I'm not concerned. There is no way of reattaching it, though. They lost a lot of blood and are in a lot of pain. So, of course, pain meds and blood have been given. Please let them rest as much as you can."

Caretaker agreed.

Caretaker sat quietly in the room and watched as Whumpee slept. They took in every grimace and wince Whumpee made.

Caretaker was well aware that they should have been watching Whumpee closer. This was their fault for sleeping on the job.

Whumpee finally squinted their eyes opened, and looked around.

"Hey", Caretaker whispered when Whumpee finally looked their way.

Whumpee made a small smile.

"I'm so sorry. I woke up to see you missing. I looked around for a few minutes in hopes you were in the bathroom. After I didn't find you, I called in my team to get you. I had a tracking device hidden on you; I believed something was up and I thought that would be a good idea", Caretaker sighed in frustration.

Whumpee looked at them in confusion.

"Oh right... I'm a detective. I was tasked to befriend you after you went to the police station a few weeks ago", Caretaker frowned, "there was something off about you. In all honesty though I didn't know I was going to get as close to you as I did."

Whumpee weakly smiled.

"Let's do this", Caretaker reached for Whumpee's hand, "Whumper has been arrested, and we are working to track down the others like you. Let's get you out of that tiny apartment", Caretaker squeezed Whumpee's hand gently, "no matter what happens, I can help you. I promise we will work through all of this."

Whumpee frowned, 'this will be too much for you to deal with', they thought to themself.

"I know you're worried about the details. Don't worry about any of that, I have many strings that I can pull", Caretaker smiled, "just rest. Are you okay if I become your advocate for a little while?"

Whumpee looked deeply into Caretaker's eyes. They nodded and let a tear fall.

Caretaker gently squeezed their hand again.

"Alright, I will begin getting things together for when you are released", Caretaker smiled, "now please get some rest before the doctor comes in and yells at us."

Whumpee held Caretaker's hand tightly.

Caretaker paused and looked at Whumpee with concern, "yes Whumpee?"

Whumpee slowly moved their hand to their mouth, and made a motion as though they were drinking.

"Yes you can have more alcohol, but we have to check with the doctor when you'll be allowed to", Caretaker grinned, "I'll by you as much as you want, and this time we won't have to worry about you getting kidnapped. Though I will definitely keep a closer eye on you."

Whumpee smiled and nodded.

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived

@sacredwrath @porschethemermaid

@monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz

@bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13

@notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots

@whumpbump @everythingsscary

@skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr

@theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee

@candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers

@starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

@lumpofsand @watermeezer

@indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains

@3-2-whump @risk606

@electrons2006 @paperprinxe

@whumprince @kaz-of-crows

@mis-graves @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94

@sausages-things @sunglasses-in-the-bentley

@isikedmyself878 @daffyduckcommittedtaxfraud

@valravnthefrenchie

[chaotic-orphan]

Whumptober No. 4

Hallucinations

Hypnosis // sensory deprivation // “in my head you’re still alive”

Very loose interpretation of hypnosis, which means VAMPIRES BABY FOR SPOOKY SEASON!!!

*~*~*~*~*

Whumper cornered Whumpee in the alleyway, the poor dear trembling like a deer in shock, violently and so enticing. Whumpee kept backing up, turning their head left and right frantically but Whumper knew this alley was a dead end. He grinned as he stalked closer and Whumpee yelped, backing up all the way into a wall.

They flinched when they felt it. A sudden jolt of fear and panic as all blood drained from Whumpee’s darling face to their heart to be pumped around the muscles in their body.

Flee, flee, flee.

There was no fight impulse when a human faced a vampire, their body flooded with adrenaline to run, run as fast as they can.

“P-p-please! Please, no! Please!” Whumpee cried, holding their hands out in vain to create an illusion of control. Whumper stopped a metre away, tilting his head to the side, his grin exposing his fangs.

“You’re too pretty to be a chimney sweep,” Whumper said to the young boy covered in soot. He wore a peak cap and clothes that looked to be scraps of other clothes sewn together.

“Stay— stay back! I know what you are,” Whumpee announced, trying to be firm but their trembling lip gave them away.

“I know what you are too. Isn’t it illegal for girls to earn a wage?”

Whumpee stiffened. Their trembling ceased and they lowered their arms to their side, tightening their hands into fists. Her eyes sharpened dangerously.

“I’m a boy,” Whumpee said, her voice suddenly pitched down.

Whumper laughed and stepped forwards and Whumpee remembered to be afraid again and threw herself flat against the wall.

“I don’t like when my food lies to me,” Whumper sang, closing the distance between them.

Whumpee sucked in a fretful breath with an effort. “Th-thankfully chickens can’t speak.”

It was Whumper’s turn to freeze.

A surprised, melodic laughter bubbled up and out of his throat, stunning the girl into silence. She searched the area behind him, trying to see if there was any way she would be able to get by him, to skirt around him and make a run for it. Maybe if she kept making him laugh he would let her go?

“Child,” Whumper said fondly, fingers settling heavy on the brim of Whumpee’s hat. Whumpee’s hands shot up in panic, not thinking, as she held the hat over her hair.

“Please, please sir, don’t, please.”

A cold hand cupped under her chin and tilted her head up to meet the Vampire’s enthralling eyes. She was transfixed, locked into his gaze that seemed to be pulling her further in the more she looked, like the smell of chocolate from the corner shop that opened its doors after school. She forgot her fear, completely unafraid, all her worry leaving her as if it was just a suggestion, a silly notion that she was afraid at all.

“Good,” Whumper hummed and Whumpee almost melted at the praise. “Drop your hands.”

Whumpee obeyed, lost in the labyrinth of his gaze unaware of the minotaur that lurked, following her through every new corner.

Whumper removed Whumpee’s hat. Whumpee didn’t even blink, too afraid to miss the allure of his gaze. Her blond hair like silver thread fell over her shoulders, tarnished by the soot and the remnants of ash, but still magnificent. Whumper didn’t expect to be pleasantly surprised at how pleasing the human was to his eyes.

“There we are. Much better. Tell me, child, how old are you?”

“Sixteen sir,” Whumpee answered automatically. Her voice less boyish now, more dreamlike and light.

Whumper smiled. “Not even fully grown,” he hummed. “Why are you dressed as a boy?”

“To earn money, sir.”

“Why?” Whumper pressed, running a knuckle down the side of Whumpee’s face, tracing the prominent outline of her skull all the way down to her throat.

“For my family, sir.”

Hmph, extraordinary polite for a human. Whumper locked the information in the back of his mind, he hadn’t compelled the girl to call him sir, she just seemed to. A reflex.

“What about your schooling?”

“I—” Whumpee began, but hesitated, her eyes blinking back the fog. Whumper saw the beginnings of recognition flashing in her blue eyes, so he tilted her head up again to lock eyes with his and she was under his thrall once more. “I need to provide for my family, sir. So I dropped out.”

Whumper’s smile grew. What a strange creature.

“Where are your parents? Do they not—”

“They’re dead, sir,” Whumpee said, cutting over Whumper. Whumper raised a brow at her interruption, but he knew she couldn’t really control what she was saying so he let the slight go. “I’m all we have.”

“You provide for your siblings?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you the oldest?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And how old are they?”

“They’re—” the fog dropped immediately as Whumpee was suddenly back in their body, eyes widening initially at how close Whumper was before they shut them tight and shoved Whumper’s chest away. “No! NO! Get away from me!”

Whumper’s hand didn’t leave Whumpee’s chin. “Open your eyes child, I just want to—”

“No!” Whumpee cried, shaking her head. Her hair brushed her face and oh, yes, she forgot he removed her hat but she knew he did. “Whatever you’re doing to me stop it! Stop it! Let me go!”

Whumper stared as the child squirmed, throwing thin fists at Whumper’s chest and arms and trying to rip his hand away. How fascinating a child she was, determined and loyal, protecting her family more than herself.

It took a lot to break a vampire’s thrall, but it was near impossible to break Whumper’s and this slight of a thing, this small scrappy girl, masquerading as a boy, covered in soot and ash and coal, she was able to break it?

Whumpee’s eyes shot open when Whumper put her hat back on her head, surprise winding every muscle tight. Anticipation of something awful flooded her and she wanted to cry and scream for help, but if she did, only men would come running — men who would see her hair, dressed as a boy and lock her up in an asylum or something, and she’d never be able to see her family again. They’d be sent to workhouses or worse…

Whumper stepped away. Whumpee didn’t move an inch as he back up another step, then another, and turned his body to the side, allowing her to pass.

Her mouth was dry. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m letting you go,” said the vampire.

Whumpee didn’t move. “You’re trying to trick me,” she accused, licking her cracked lips. “When I walk past you’re going to —”

The world rushed suddenly around her and she gasped as a hand was on her throat, a thumb on her cheek, forcing the side of her face into the brickwork and she gasped, kicking her legs weakly as her air bled from her body.

Her hat vanished in the flurry of movement and Whumpee found herself locking eyes with the vampire again, her heart racing in her chest but she didn’t feel the floating absence of sensation she felt before, it was more like seeing a wolf in the woods on its own, the two of you hunting for game and seeing which would look away first, which of them would back out of the fight.

“If I wanted to kill you, dear, trust me, you’d be dead.” His voice carrying through air like the choir in church, soothing and pleasant. He dropped her and she fell to ground, landing on both feet and tipping backwards, leaning on the wall for support. Whumper was impressed. He pressed her hat back into her hands which Whumpee took with trepidation. He leaned down and grinned, exposing his fangs again and Whumpee flinched. “Run along now, little one. I’m getting hungry, and you don’t want to be here when I fancy a snack, hmm?”

Whumpee didn’t need to be told twice. She didn’t even put her hat on immediately and fix all the strands perfect, she did it as she half ran out of the alley, haphazardly throwing her hair up and smashing the brim of her hat low over her brows. Her heart pounded in her chest but she didn’t stop running until she made it home.

She looked over her shoulder, glancing around to make sure the vampire or anyone else hadn’t followed her before she snuck into the abandoned manor at the end of the high street, a condemned building, Whumper realised as he watched her throw open the doors to the cellar and with one last glance around, she disappeared beneath the ground.

Whumper smiled.

Clever girl. Observant, unlike so many other humans. Whumper would have to watch her over the week, see if he could see any of her siblings or the hint of a parent or guardian figure.

For now though, he was famished. The girl had been his meal before she was so intriguing. He wanted something fatty, he hummed, turning away from the manor and walking to the manor houses of the rich. A grin on his face.

A feast for his stomach and a feast for his brain.

What a night.

[whumpacabra]

Have your medical caretaker forget (or your medical whumper ‘forget’) to numb whumpee before a minor but painful operation.

They have to follow up with a sedative to help whumpee ‘calm down,’ blissfully unaware (or cruelty reveling) that they’re still in excruciating pain.

Whumpee is still in pain, but they’re too confused and exhausted by the sedative to communicate that to their caretakers.